


Jail-crow

by WalkingAmphigory



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bad Puns, Gen, Humor, Literally And Figuratively, Maedhros is in a worse one, Maedhros is out to reopen old wounds, Mention of gigantic spiders, Morgoth is in a bad temper, Stupid linguistics jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 10:09:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7570069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WalkingAmphigory/pseuds/WalkingAmphigory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Melkor suffers from giant-spider and Fëanor-related PTSD, which the arrival of Maedhros does nothing to alleviate. Yet another explanation for why exactly Morgoth hung him off that cliff anyway, because there aren't already enough of those in the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jail-crow

Morgoth was fuming on the balcony where he stood. He hated the meager trickles of light that entered his realm, but they were worth it to be as far away from the noise miles beneath his feet as he could, without leaving the fortress entirely. The elf would not stop screaming. Normally, this was no issue – the screams of tormented elves was music to Morgoth’s ears – but his new red-haired prisoner refused to scream properly. He didn’t sound like an elf, he sounded like – well, if Morgoth had to be honest that elf sounded a little too close to a Vala. And – well – if Morgoth were to be really, really honest with himself, that elf sounded more than a little too close to, well, what you heard when you shouted in Lammoth. 

(Morgoth still didn’t want to talk about what happened in Lammoth. He didn’t want to wake the memories.) (That was why he wanted this elf to shut his mouth already.) (It was honestly getting a little uncomfortable.)

Another scream sounded from deep beneath his feet, and Morgoth growled with irritation. Thoughts of giant spiders invading the depths of his fortress were prominent as he paced back and forth on the balcony. Gritting his teeth, Morgoth forced himself to slow his frantic steps and think about it reasonably. An elf with a voice that sounded a little bit like his own, screaming as the orcs and other foul beings in the caves and dungeons beneath his fortress tormented him for their amusement – that was all. There was no spider-shaped monstrosity, no webs of clinging Unlight that captured all, nothing of Ungoliant in this place. Right. But the haunting terror remained.

The elf screamed again, louder than ever before, and it took every ounce of Morgoth’s will to remain where he was, instead of fleeing to huddle, terrified, in some remote part of his fortress, stopping his ears against the frighteningly familiar screams of anguish from the dungeons. Filled with sudden resolve, the Dark Enemy of the world turned and swept down the many halls and stairways that led to the dungeons below. Level after level of dark openings and fiery gaps passed him by, the screaming becoming louder and louder as he continued. Morgoth winced, but he steeled himself and moved forward, thinking only of what he stood to gain from pressing on. Still, though, he made sure to hurry past the darkest holes and crevices, desperately not thinking of many-legged monsters creeping out to pounce upon him and demand the three jewels that shone bright on his crown.

Though the halls of Angband were massive, Morgoth finally reached the cavern he sought. Magnified by the curves of the cave – how he cursed his decision to build the prisons with the express intent of amplifying every sound in them! – the screams were almost deafening. The monsters of his halls were gleefully torturing their newest victim, but all activity ceased with the arrival of their lord and king. The prisoner, Fëanáro’s oldest son Nelyafinwë, Maedhros as they called him in Sindarin, collapsed, gasping, in his chains. Morgoth regarded him coldly for a moment, then remarked, “Stop screaming, elf.”

The red-headed Noldo gave him a look of utter disdain. “You mean, like this?” he asked in acidic tones, just before jerking his arm savagely in its manacle. The steel cuff tore open a number of barely-healed cuts and sores from chafing and previous escape attempts, and the elf screamed again in real pain. Morgoth’s hands flew to his head, trying without success to block out the sounds that were still echoing around the chamber. Having a terrifying helmet of destruction strapped to one’s head made it almost impossible to plug one’s ears, as Morgoth found out through painful experience. It was far worse in the same room as the elf, he realized.

“Yes, like that,” he snarled, glaring at his prisoner. “Stop that noise, or I swear by the blood of your grandfather I will…” he let the threat trail off ominously.

Maedhros shrugged, almost casually, although anyone could see it caused him more pain than he would like to admit. “Or what, murderer?” he spat between clenched teeth. “You won’t kill me – if you were planning that, I would have died the day I came here – and I doubt you would torment me further, lest I die or, which is far worse, scream,” he added with a touch of sarcasm. 

Morgoth scowled. “Never mind what I will do; you only need know that I will find some way of making your life even more unpleasant than it has already become. Now be silent.” The elf laughed, long, loud, and completely lacking any genuine amusement. Morgoth glared at the elf, who was still shaking with the occasional humorless chuckle. “I said, be silent,” he hissed viciously.

The elf closed his eyes and waved a dismissive hand in Morgoth’s general direction, causing his chains to rattle and fresh blood to run down from his gouged wrist. “Ai, á auta antallonya, mando-quáco Mandoso,” he replied airily.

Morgoth snarled at him, silently cursing Fëanor and all his brood to the darkest regions of the Void for all eternity. Maedhros never knew how close he came to dying that very moment. In fact, he would almost have certainly ended his life then and there had Morgoth not stumbled upon the neat little idea of dangling his prisoner by one wrist from a deserted clifftop. Of course, this had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that Morgoth would also be spared any further screaming if his prisoner were kept several miles away. And if Morgoth never complained when Fingon finally showed up to rescue his cousin, no one ever remarked on it.

**Author's Note:**

> A loose translation of Maedhros’s final words here would be “Oh, get thee gone from my face, thou jail-crow of Mandos,” echoing his father’s infamous insult to Morgoth. The Quenya words for “gate” and “face” are similar – “ando” and “anta,” respectively, resulting in a pun that Morgoth likely found in very questionable taste. Did I just write an entire story to make a single terrible pun? I did. Also, I wanted to write arachnophobic!Morgoth, because I find that amusing. If you want to correct my Quenya, feel free. It was written in the wee hours of the morning and cobbled together from the Ardalambion Quenya textbook; I doubt it's flawless.


End file.
